


Frozen Heather

by Snooty_Alpaca



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Angst!Fili, protective!Fili
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 03:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3365699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snooty_Alpaca/pseuds/Snooty_Alpaca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fili's last moments on Ravenhill told from his perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frozen Heather

**Author's Note:**

> This was written following one of the times that I went to see The Hobbit: BotFA. I knew what was coming, but I still cried. Those hapless dwarves have been my companions throughout my life.  
> I do not have the dialogue from the film memorized – yet – so there will be errors. I have tried to recreate the words to the best of memory.
> 
> This story was written while listening to Adele’s Skyfall, and The Last Goodbye, Courage and Wisdom, The Return Journey, and Ironfoot from the The Hobbit: BotFA - Special Edition Soundtrack.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, they are the property of Middle Earth Enterprises.

_“He asked for us to stand and fight;_  
He asked to shed our blood  
To fight for Erebor and for him  
On this day… in the sun.”

“You, go search the lower levels,” I ordered my younger brother as he tries to push past me to climb to the upper levels of the tower.

We lock eyes for a moment and I give him a small nod of encouragement.

Noise of movement had come from the stairs that led upwards. I know that we should not split up. But, if I can I will protect my baby brother. It is not that I do not trust in his abilities, but his skills lie with ranged weaponry. He has progressed greatly since our youth when we spent years training, and I know that he is more than capable of handling himself. I know he can handle himself when it comes to a fight, but it is still my job to protect him from all danger. It has been that way since his birth.

I am not only his brother, but his protector, his bodyguard, and his friend. Thorin told me to be as such the night that Kíli was born. He said that it was the sacred duty of all older brothers. He had been as such to his brother, Frerin, and his sister (my mother), Dís, from the time that they had been brought into this world. Thorin told me that Balin had that same duty to Dwalin. At the time I could hardly imagine Dwalin ever being small and in need of protection. Even today, 77 years later, imagining that is still difficult, but I could see the interactions between Balin and Dwalin mirrored in Kíli and myself. Protecting my brother comes before everything else. If he had chosen to defy Thorin’s orders not to fight I would have followed my brother without a second thought.

I watch as my brother’s back disappears down the dark passageway. I take a deep breath and go to tread my own path. Dread rises up in the pit of my stomach; something about this whole situation does not feel right. I would give anything to have Kíli and Dwalin at my side. But, if I am to die today then I was enough to do my family a loss, and if I lived I would receive more glory. Glory is not that important to me, but it makes my uncle proud. That made the trouble worth some of the effort. Kíli’s safety will always come first; he will always come before my uncle. 

I creep slowly up the steps and down the halls; trying to remember everything that Bilbo had told me about sneaking along swiftly and silently. I froze when I heard drums and saw shadows on the wall in front of me. Heat spread through my body as my heart beat sped up.

I turned quickly back to return to my uncle, but I would retrieve Kíli first. There were shadows behind me as well. I turned to run, forgetting all secrecy. Orcs swarmed into the hallway. I drew my second sword and began to fight them. Darkness crept into the corners of my vision. The bloodlust was beginning.

The cramped hallway made it difficult to use my two swords fully. Something was not right. The orcs did not seem to be trying to kill. Cold spread through my veins. I began to fight more desperately. Whatever they wanted me for could not be a good thing. I refused to give myself up to be tortured or to become Azog’s pawn.

One of my swords got caught in an orc’s skull. The mere moments it took for me to rip it free was all it took for me to be overwhelmed. The orcs’ hands were all over me pulling at my clothes and hair, removing my weapons. Desperation and sickness washed over me. I am fighting desperately – kicking and swinging my fists – trying my best to free myself from their clutches.

The world flashed! Then it dimmed as I was hit over the head with a club. My limbs went weak. I could not raise my fists to even attempt to get free. I was roughly grabbed and dragged. My head bounced on the steps as I was dragged up stairs.

The cold winter sun burst into my vision. And there were no more foul hands on my body. I struggled to my hands and knees before vomiting. My vision was swimming. It was just like that time Kíli and I had a fight and my head had been slammed into our stone table. Thorin had not let me sleep that night. Kíli’s tearstained face appeared in front of me; he was apologizing profusely. I remembered that my mother had been trying to drag him from the room and little Kíli had fought her every step of the way. I could not remember what we had been fighting about. All that mattered now was my little brother.

A hand grabbed my hair forcing me to look up. My brother’s wavering visage was replaced with the all too real face of Azog.

“Dwarf-scum,” he hissed.

“Filth!” I spit out with as much contempt as I can muster.

He laughed then. It was a cruel laugh that made my chilled body ache with an emotion that I had not felt so strongly in many years. I felt fear. My stomach twisted.

Azog’s fist tightened in my hair. He jerked sharply; throwing me to the ground. I expected him to let go, but he did not. He was dragging me across the stone by my hair. I kicked, struggling to get free. If I did not feel so sick and weak I might have been able to free myself. I felt burning fury at my weakness mixing with my cold fear and curdling.

Azog was shouting then his grip shifted from my hair to my neck. His grip tightened and pulled me forwards and upwards. I was dangling over the frozen river. I struggled for breath. I knew that this was the end. My life flashed through my mind: the night that Kíli was born and first placed in my young, trembling arms; our first altercation – it had been over who got the final seed cake – our mother singing to use as she brushed our hair and put us to bed. Kíli was there for everything. This whole nasty quest business I had watched my brother mature and grow. Now he would be Thorin’s heir and he was more than worthy of the title.

I hoped that the battle would be won, and that Thorin would find peace among his kith and kin even if I was not among those who survived.

But for Kíli – my bother – I want so much more. My young, headstrong, foolish, but much loved baby brother, for him I wish everything. I wish he comforts our mother and uncle, to, himself, grieve and then to heal. I want him to find love even if it is with that elf maid that so enraptures him, to have dwarflings and to remember me fondly. I hope that my death will not destroy him, because I love him and the rest of our kin dearly. I know Erebor will thrive under his rule and under the rules of his sons who will succeed him in the end. I hope he does not die today in battle. I hope he never dies in battle like has happened too much of our family. I hope he dies surrounded by generations of his children at the age of 270. 200 years of a happy life with love and family is all I want for my dearest brother.

Azog is speaking to my uncle, but I cannot hear the words through the pounding of blood of my ears and my own breath that fills my senses. I see my uncle and my cousin, Dwalin, far below me by the frozen river. This day was frozen in so many ways. After today my mother might never smile again. My brother’s hearth will be broken and frozen for a time. My heart and that of so many others would fall silent today; our hearts will no longer beat; our flesh will cool and take upon the chill of death and the afterlife. Sweat will freeze on frozen warriors’ unseeing eyes, eyes that gaze no longer upon Middle Earth.

Much pain would follow this day when our bodies would lay in frozen heather. But, if we lost and many of our kin survived, they would beg of our dear prince to let use try again. Our hopes and dreams would be shattered and our futures in the wind, and still we would beg to try again. Thorin was the king that we would follow until our deaths. I would die not only for my king, but for my beloved uncle.

I gathered my breath and shouted with as much strength as I could muster, “Run!”

Pain came then as Azog’s sword ripped through me. I knew it would fade if given time, as all wounds did, but today I had no time. No time to say farewell, only time to give them a chance. I hope they will take it and live to fight another day. I hope they will not avenge me as is there right. Fight again another day, but not this day. Not this day blinded by sorrow, bloodlust, and rage.

The pain radiated through my body, but I felt cold and numb. Mercifully, this would not be a slow death. Regret filled me and tears burned my eyes that I would not live long enough to tell me brother to go to Thorin and that I loved him more than life itself.

The pain in my neck ceased as Azog the Defiler released me. I was falling. I could hear my brother’s anguished scream of denial and pain. _Do not worry, my brother, you will heal and we will meet once again in the Halls of Waiting with all of our forebears._ All pain was gone and I could no longer hear my dear younger brother’s cries. Above me is the blue sky with white snowflakes drifting across my vision. That snow against an azure sky is the last thing I saw of this world. The mist of this world was already rolling back to reveal a swift sunrise and green fields.

**Author's Note:**

> It is not known for real (from Tolkien’s pen) what happens to dwarves when they die. Elves believe that dwarves return to the stone from whence they came. Dwarves believe that they go to the Halls of Waiting (The Halls of Mandos), to a special space set aside from them until after the final battle when they will help Mahal (Khuzdul for Maker, the Dwarves’ name for Aulë) rebuild the world. Thorin’s final words in The Hobbit (book) make that much clear.  
> Any reviews are appreciated, but they are not required.


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